Entrenched
by ForgetMeNot8
Summary: It's 1914 & war has struck on an unprecedented scale. In a British training camp, nurse Emily falls swiftly in love with Captain Parker -Nicholls- of the cavalry. But, when he is taken as prisoner of war & she finds herself in the hands of the Germans, she is surprised to find common ground with Hans Rechtshaffen of their infantry. Now she must choose: is all fair in love and war?
1. Prologue

_**A/N: This story does not use the exact characters in 'War Horse', however the characters in this are very much based on various characters in both the novel and film. The main character, Captain Parker, is based on Captain Nicholls (as played by the sublime Tom Hiddleston), Major Carter is based on the equally awesome Benedict Cumberbatch's Major Jamie Stuart, Lieutenant George Richards is based on Patrick Kennedy's Lieutenant Charlie Weaver and Molly is based on Joey.**_

_**I was completely inspired by the movie's fragile depiction of traditional British fighting methods meeting the advanced technological developments of Germany, and this was a theme that I wanted to explore further in this piece. **_

_**I hope you enjoy it, and please comment with any suggestions on how I may be able to improve my writing. I am grateful for any support. Thank you and enjoy!**_

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**PROLOGUE**

~ London, England, Sept. 1954 ~

"They called it the Great War. But, in truth, there was nothing great about it. All it did was cause indescribable pain and fear, even though it was made perfectly clear that no one was allowed to be afraid. When we heard those victory bells ring throughout France, marking the end of conflict, there were no cheers, no cries of joy…not even sighs of relief and talk of home. There was total silence. Spontaneous silence. Silence which swelled, filling every corner of every empire involved. Silence louder than all the exploding shells which had forever damaged our ears. Shoulder to shoulder, arm wrapped around comrades for fear of some unforeseen rogue bullet, and silence.

"There was no victory. We had known that some time ago. Because no victory was worth the human cost which accompanied one such as this. Instead of thoughts of the future, our minds turned to the comrades, friends, brothers…loved ones…which we had lost these past few years. We couldn't look to the future, because for some time now we had convinced ourselves that we wouldn't have one. As I observed the troubled and wearied faces of my friends that day, I knew that the same thought was imprinting itself on all of our minds; there would be no progression from this point. It was incompatible with our convincing belief of our total annihilation after The Somme, it has been an inconceivably mad idea that we would ever survive this war for so many months…And now we had been presented with the promise of a 'new generation', the golden age of the 20s to come.

"The only problem was that we all knew that we would never escape the 'Great' War. The horrors that we had endured would haunt us for a lifetime, so vividly alive in our memories that we would be forced to relive them every time we close our eyes. So I ask you: where is the victory in this? What deluded soul could possibly derive victory from such a mindless bloodbath?

"It was not only us soldiers, however, that suffered. Innocent civilians paid with their lives, truck drivers paid with their lives, and the nurses. Nurses were a soldier's salvation; they always knew exactly what to say to give you hope when you were ready to submit to death's open arms. I was severely injured after a cavalry charge, and…and a…a nurse, she…she saved my life. The most skilled of her kind, she saved me when everyone else would have pronounced me a dead man. I owe her my life…a lot of others owe her theirs too.

"What was her name? Her name was Emily. Her name was Emily.

"Now to you, each death is only a statistic which goes on to form a substantial total, but to my generation each death signifies a hell of a lot more. Deaths cannot be thought of as collective; it belittles them. To me, each death entails severe pain to that soldier's family, despair of his comrades, and rage of disappointed generals. I saw countless numbers of men die, their bodies strewn so far across the ground that we trampled them; they formed the floor beneath our feet…totally stripped of their dignity.

"No, there was no possible victory to be had. Any fool who'd fought could see that. And, as you can probably deduce from my current occupation in speaking to you today, my comrades and I had been right – there is no escaping the horrors of warfare. My bitter regrets, my nightmares, my infinitely excruciating memories, my dead friends and those that I killed, have followed me all these years. And though I may have found a way to mould some kind of future for myself, they will never cease or be easier to cope with, because my head and heart belong to the past.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

~ Somerset, England, Sept. 1914 ~

"Well come on then, old chap. You inferred that you would outstrip me with ease!"

"Oh, just you wait for it, she's a slow starter but she could outrun a truck when she gets going."

"Terribly sorry to disappoint you, but I don't think fritz will wait for your horse to 'get going' before they attack you!"

Rapiers out, their steel edges freshly sharpened and glinting in the sunlight, the Major and his Captain straddled leather saddles as they charged towards the lake, which marked the end of the vast acres of land which belonged to the country mansion. Captain Parker felt the movement of the horse beneath him, responding to the changes her motion, as he had been trained to do. He heard her deep breathing, the clash of hooves against hard turf with each powerful stride and leant to whisper in her ear.

"Come on, Molly, I know you can do it girl, come on."

She responded almost immediately. Her ear flickered back towards the lake and her head bent further forwards. Her heartbeat quickened to match the rapid speed of each stride, which was becoming lengthier and more frequent. They soon drew parallel to Major Carter's mighty stallion and began to pull ahead. Captain Parker couldn't resist twisting slightly in his saddle to look back and flash his superior a mischievous smile, while Molly continued to power ahead. The Major observed their progress with a furrowed brow, irritated that the Captain had obtained a faster steed than he and would therefore be leading the charges against the fritz.

Once by the lake, the Captain dismounted and allowed his horse to rehydrate after her admirable victory. As the Major, who had trotted the latter part of the race, pulled up alongside them, Captain Parker bent down and splashed his face with water, clearing the sweat which had built up beneath his blue cap, emblazoned with the symbol of his squadron. His blonde hair stirred as a welcome breeze swept through the valley and the Captain breathed the fresh air deeply.

"How long have you been riding?" The Major asked brusquely, smoothing down his golden moustache.

"Well, I rode a little when I was boy and we visited the country, but I only really started in the months leading up to the war. My father had dreams of me being in the cavalry and it seemed preferable to infantry; fighting the traditional British way, with traditional British spirit, that sort of thing."

"Well it seems that he's got what he always wanted; his son as a British officer, leading the first charge when we're shipped to France."

"Yes…I guess so…"

"Well we better head back, though I might call for a rematch at some point – I still believe in swift acceleration, none of this pansying about at the back, waiting to be shot."

"I'd hardly call it 'pansying about'. She was still riding quicker than the majority of the cavalry."

"If you say so,"

The head of the army had done a fine job in finding accommodation which would be large enough to house a hundred horses, the stables here suitable for fifty, leaving makeshift patches of straw and quartered off areas outside. They were fortunate it hadn't yet rained, otherwise the stables would be crammed and it would no doubt cause the fine creatures, which they had acquired from all areas of Britain, great distress. Synchronously they stripped the horses of their saddle and reigns, backing them steadily into their neighbouring stables. Handing the riding gear to their designated stable boy, the Captain and Major marched towards the patio doors of the mansion. The back of the building consisted mainly of a row of glass doors, which opened onto a stoned terrace. As it was another warm day, these doors had been fully opened and the terrace was occupied by half the regiment, adorned in their undershirts and shorts, playing cards at the tables and drinking cool beer. The other half were in the adjoining room, enjoying the cool shade and chatting up the daughters of the house's occupants. They had kindly offered up their home for the good of the cause and were being rewarded with half-drunk middle-aged men attempting to seduce their youthful children. Captain Parker frowned with distaste as they walked up the stone steps and met with Lieutenant Richards, his childhood friend.

"Well, how did it go?" He teased, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

He looked as though he meant to continue, but was swiftly silenced with a scowl from Major Carter. Instead he merely nodded and stepped back in line with Captain Parker, where they exchanged knowing smiles.

"Listen up! We came here to practise our skills in horseback riding, establish our most advantageous formation and enhance our use of weaponry. We did NOT come to sit on our backsides, drinking, gambling and making a nuisance of ourselves for this kind family." He paused dramatically, allowing his words to settle on attentive ears. "If we want to be ready to annihilate fritz then it requires dedication and hard work. We have been told that this war will be over by Christmas and in order for that to happen we need to provide our infantry with substantial support. Today will be the last day that I catch you lazing around when there are better things to be done! Do you think that the fritz are doing this?"

"Nah, they're busy raping half o' France!" A voice from somewhere amidst the men brought a bought of laughter and muffled applause.

Major Carter fervently scanned the crowd, but the culprit was blind to him.

"Is this a joke to you? Is this whole bloody war funny? Our innocent comrades are battling the Germans now, dying at their bastard hands and you sit here and laugh. Tomorrow morning we will be up a dawn and practice the charging line." – He appeared ignorant of the groans which swept the group – "Captain Parker will be leading the charge." To this finish, however, there was an animated round of applause.

Captain Parker had arrived just a fortnight ago and had swiftly gained the respect and love of his fellow soldiers. He had heard their stories, taken an active interest in their backgrounds and taught them where he could about riding and battle formations, mainly tales he had heard from his father, who had won numerous awards for bravery. To hear that he would be leading them into battle, as oppose to 'Major Shitbrick' (a nickname awarded to him on account of his limited sense of humour and dry personality) who ruled through fear, was mighty good news. They would follow him into any battle willingly, because they wanted to support him through the fight.

"Johnson!"

"Yes Sir?" The portly man who had been placed in charge of minding the horses scurried up to him from the crowd, with a distinguished air of self-importance.

"Ensure all the horses are prepared for a full practice cavalry charge tomorrow at dawn."

"Yes Sir."

"Oh and Captain Parker will be dictating the charge."

"Right, yes Sir."

"That will be all." He brushed the man off with a swift wave of his arm before turning back to Captain Parker. "You may have the remainder of the day to do what you will." He began to walk away, but begrudgingly turned to say, "You rode well today. Congratulations."

Once he was clear of earshot, Lieutenant Richards turned to his friend and clapped him warmly on the back.

"Haha! Showed Shitbrick the old ropes, did you? I thought you would."

"I wish you wouldn't call him that. He's not half as bad as everyone seems to make out and he certainly knows what he's talking about when it comes down to tactical warfare."

"Well yeah, but…it's just a nickname Tom…all the lads use it. Anyway, we shouldn't be talking about him when it's all about you!"

Captain Parker allowed himself a small smile and flung his arm around his friend's shoulder.

"It was all the horse really I had nothing to do with it."

"Oh come on! What's the secret?"

"Quiet confidence."

The friends erupted into laughter as they walked slowly into the blissful shade of the house.

"Quiet confidence."


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

~ London, England, Jan. 1914 ~

'Thank goodness that's over. One more and I swear to god I'd be the one needing medical attention!' I recall thinking to myself after my final examination in medical school. I had been fortunate, as had my best friend, Mary. We had both been one of the select few females offered a place at medical school and, of course, we had both grabbed it with open arms. No woman gets offered training in specialist academies and says no…most woman don't receive offers at all. But we'd got through it together and passed together. Qualified nurses; I still sometimes can't believe it. Father was so proud of me, while mother hung her head in shame at having a daughter who was learning to think for herself and becoming self-sufficient. She was ready to have me lined up for some poor young sod to marry…well, if she had had her way he certainly wouldn't have been poor, that's for sure! Mother and I never really were on the best of terms, so I suppose we both considered it a blessing when I moved out. Mary and I now share a modest apartment together near London's central hospital, so travel to work is easier. It's perfect really; we are answerable to no one but our superiors at the hospital. Of course, they have us working ridiculous shifts that no one else wants, but we are grateful to have work there at all. Besides, contrary to public belief, most of the work goes on during the night. Fresh bandages need applying, medication needs administering and various injections to assist the onset of sleep.

Though we are never bored because we both love our work, it never requires too much energy, so on the limited nights we have off we both love to go dancing, though Mary does so more than me. She always manages to drag me to the liveliest places, somewhere I wouldn't dream of going on my own. She always compares herself to a prostitute, she has had that many lovers, but I declare she is as far away from one as one can be. She has class and style and although she is very outgoing, she has enough social competencies for both of us. I have always been an odd combination of both shy and wilful when the situation dictates it. When it comes to my work, I am required to be wilful and when drunkards attempt to grope me in bars. However, when any man shows an earnest interest in me, I shrivel up and refuse to let him anywhere near me.

I wouldn't describe myself as a feminist, but I know that I don't need a male companion to achieve and get by in life; I don't need a man in order to be a success. I have proved thus much already. I am always flattered when I do get attention, and Mary has told me several times that I am beautiful, but I just guess that I'm afraid of being hurt. I have witnessed Mary in fits of tears when she has been dumped by various boyfriends and I am scared that if the same happens to me, I won't be able to spring back up as she does; she has always been much more forceful than me.

"Excuse me, but I couldn't help noticing you across the room and I was wondering if you would like to dance?"

"Thank you, but I'm afraid I'm a terrible dancer."

If I don't look him in the eyes then he might go away.

"That is fortunate, because I have been complimented by many on my dancing skills – allow me to teach you."

"If you have already been complimented by many young girls, I doubt you need another to add to your list."

God, where did that come from? That must've seemed very rude and arrogant of me, I better say something or apologise.

"Look, I was just trying to offer you a compliment. You're very beautiful. But, if you'd rather that I leave then just say so."

"Hello!" Mary swaggered towards us on the arm of her latest beau, her drink sloshing over the sides of the glass and onto the floor. "Well done, Em, this one isn't too bad. What's your name?"

"My name is George, George Richards."

"And what is it you do, George?"

"I'm a member of His Majesty's Second Cavalry Division."

"Ooooh a soldier, Em."

"Is that your name?"

"Her name is Emily, but I call her Em cause we've known each other for aaaaages. This is my boyfriend, Roger."

They talk as if I'm not even here. I might as well not be here! I just want to melt into the floor and find myself back in our apartment, where I can relax and listen to the wireless.

"Well I was here with my friend Tom but…..I can't see him actually. He must have wondered off somewhere."

I wonder if they'd notice if I just slipped away. There's so many people in here they wouldn't be able to spot me in the crowd and I think I remember which bus to take home. Besides, looking at the way she's draped across her latest conquest, I doubt Mary will be coming home tonight. Maybe I should remind her of what will happen if she's late for work again.

"No actually we don't come here very often, do we Emmy? Actually I think this might be the first time that she has dared to come with me."

"Oh daring are you?"

"Well you're in the army…you should know all about taking risks!"

You almost feel sorry for Roger. Fancy being immediately side-lined in favour of a soldier! I don't think I could ever go out with a soldier – I know that there's already talk of war brewing. War never seems to end. As soon as one reaches its conclusion another rises from the depths of the other side of Europe. Constantly being deported to kill or be killed kind of takes the romance away from a possible relationship. That would be the worst kind of heartache. Loving someone and then receiving that letter…that's all you get. A single written sheet of paper as some kind of consolation for the man you love not returning from the war. If I was a soldier, I'd have a letter prepared for the ones I loved and ask my superiors to send it attached with theirs if I died. That way they would always have some small piece of me to carry with them.

Maybe I could just sneak away now, if I just shuffle a little bit…ok, no one has noticed any movement. Maybe it would be easier just to make a quick dash for it as oppose to trying to slow-motion it. Ok, here goes. Haha I was right – no one even batted an eyelid. Now, where's the damn door? Ouch!

"Oh goodness, I'm so sorry, are you alright?"

"Yes, yes I'm fine, don't worry about it."

"Are you sure? Here, let me buy you a drink to make up for it."

What is it with men, thinking….oh but he is…well, rather handsome I suppose. His eyes are so blue…oh god! Quiet Emily! If you stay here and have a drink with a handsome perfect stranger, then the others might realise you've gone and find you before you make a hasty escape.

"Sorry, but not this time…I have to leave, you see."

"Oh that's an awful shame-"

"But thank you very much for such a generous offer. Excuse me."

Please don't say anything, please don't say anything…he's not even coming after me. Maybe he was a gentleman, unlike the rest of them who only want a warm bed for the night. Ah perfect, the door. God it's freezing out here! I wish I'd brought a coat with me and not listened to Mary's ridiculous advice. 'If you don't bring a coat then the more likely it is that some handsome chap will lend you his'. Great, thanks Mary. Ok, so I think we turned left here so I need to turn right….yes there it is. Thank goodness, I thought I'd be looking all night for the bus stop. I just hope one comes soon or I'm going to freeze to death waiting for it.

Thank goodness the bus got me home so quickly - now I can finally relax. I wonder what mary will say when she finally realises that I've run off. She'll probably arrive home in a daze with a splitting headache tomorrow morning and scold me for not staying and having a drink. She will probably insist that she knew I had a chance with...George was it?...and that I have missed some great opportunity. I highly doubt it. If I would have had a drink with any of those animals it would have been the handsome blue-eyed stranger. But still, with Mary around there's sure to be infinite possibilities in the future.

I wonder what Doctor Phillips will say when Mary turns up to work with another hangover. She really is hopeless. He was so angry with her last time. He gave her the traditional 'I'm not sure how much you appreciate that you've let the hospital down', and he barely knows 1/3 of Mary's 'wild nights'. I normally cover for her for the better parts of them. But she insists on deliberately trying to annoy him, even when she knows that he would love any excuse to fire us - all he needs is evidence. He dislikes women and hates women with opinions even more. The only reason he hasn't shown us the door is because, as much as it pains him to admit it, we're good at what we do. I try to be modest about it, but now patients actively ask for either Mary or I. It's truly humbling to know that you are making a positive difference, to know that you are good at saving lives...

What? What was that? Oh god I must have fallen asleep on the couch again. No. I definitely heard a noise. And again. Shit, I really hope it's Mary.

"Mary - is that you?"

"Oh shit sorry! Did I wake you up?"

Oh thank god!

"Yes, but don't worry. I fell asleep on the couch again. How was your night?"

"I should be asking you the same thing! Where did you sneak off to and why?"

Possibly because you were too busy flirting with each other to give a damn if I was there or not, I hate going to sleazy bars and I actually would rather have a relationship than keep someone's bed warn for one night!

"Oh, you know, I was just exhausted after our rounds and really needed to rest."

"Ah you missed out! George and I had a great time. Turns out he's as much of a sleaze as I am!"

"What about Roger?"

"Roger? Who's Roger?"

"Never mind. So will you be seeing George again?"

"No! Were you listening to me? - He's just as bad as I am!" She grinned brightly, as she always did after leaving a man in the lurch.

She's like a woman sent to tease and destroy half the men in the world. You have to laugh really. Where would I be without her? She always manages to cheer me up and will always be there for me. I'd trust her with my life and there's not many people that can say that about someone they know. I'm very lucky to have her really.

We walked to the hospital together that day, as the weather was so nice. More to the point Mary had declared that 'maybe the wind slapping her face would sober her up a bit as she currently felt like she'd puke on her patients'. But now I have to concentrate. The hospital is quieter today, but that's often when you have to think more. Kind of paradoxical, but I guess it's because you have more time so you're forced to think more. The more work you have, the more instinct takes over - you just know what you have to do and you have to trust yourself. When it's like it is today suddenly everything becomes more laborious. Besides, when it's this quiet Doctor Phillips tries to avoid giving Mary and I or the other nurses any decent work. We're stuck replenishing the supplies cupboard, ensuring substances are correctly labelled and safely locked away, updating the inventory and folding sheets and bandages. Of course, if there is the occasion when his mightiness needs help, it's always Mary or I that he begrudgingly turns to, but he mostly tries his absolute best to avoid it. Thank goodness no one can hear my thoughts – I'd be canned before I could say 'Doctor'.

"I swear to god if we aren't given some proper work soon I will personally kick that insufferable man up the backside. Why's he got to act to high and mighty all the time, huh? It's us who do the real crappy work! I just had to mop up a child's sick and they weren't even a bloody patient."

Of course, Mary's blatant disregard for the hierarchy and their practices couldn't be more potent; an irritating stain on their freshly polished white floors. I wonder at the guts she has to voice these opinions.

"I didn't work my butt off at med school, read all those bloody books and listen to sexist professors go on and on at me, to become a glorified cleaner! Anyway…why are you all alone in the store cupboard?"

"I've been asked by Dr Phillips to update the inventory."

"Bastard! He knows you're the best nurse in the place, probably better than most of the doctors, and he's got you stock-checking! Well if he carries on like this, you can discount a large dose of morphine." She grinned brightly.

"Haha – do you make an effort to lose your job every day or does it come naturally?"

"Oh it's all natural darling, naturally, naturally. But seriously though, this is a bloody joke. I just wish our skills weren't just used, but needed and appreciated, you know?"

"Yes, I know exactly what you mean."

"Guess we'll catch up at dinner"

I can't ever see it happening; a time when 'our skills weren't just used, but needed and appreciated'. What would have to happen to accommodate such a request? No, I doubt it will ever happen, but it's good to wish for something. All I know is that if we want to get even close to that dream, then we are going to need to work really hard and give absolutely everything we have. 126 sterilised needles…300 lots of 100ml morphine…haha, if Mary hasn't been at it already that is…52 arm bandages and 50 leg…more than enough for the time being.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

~ London, England, July 1914 ~

The hall was small and stuffy, the only sunlight able to penetrate the dirt-stained windows falling in watery streaks across the filthy floors, unable to brighten the dimly lit room. Men could barely hear one another in the din, each voice increasing in volume so it might compete with that of the man next to him. However, it was undeniable that the room was buzzing with a positive atmosphere. The queues were long and twisted all the way down the streets outside, responses to mass propaganda campaigns to encourage enlistment. In fact, enlisting was so popular that various brass hatsi and bobby had to instruct the crowds outside into some fashionable line. Tom listened vaguely to the naïve chatter which filled the room, focusing in and out of various conversations and listening to the eager words spoken amongst strangers and friends alike.

"Just you wait – the bloody fritz won't know what's hit 'em when us lot get out there and start causin' some havoc!"

"Just look at us all. I kid you not, this war will be over by Christmas!"

"Were you listening to the wireless last night? Not five minutes in this war and already we've had some stonking success with the BEF."

"Oh I can't wait to get out there and hand it to 'em, the fucking bastards! Have you seen the paper? Look at what they've done across Europe - they don't deserve nothin' but our bullets in their thick skulls!"

Tom listened to the middle-aged men recounting events of the Second Boer War, of a noble and hard-fought British victory and that they very much anticipated similar success here. No one seemed in any doubt that the Germans would suffer at the hands of the allies and Tom was comforted by this. War had a curious way of pulling the most unlikely people together, because suddenly there was something significant at stake. Side by side, fighting for independence and their country, they would stand together indefinitely. He had come that morning with a heavy heart, but now he was prepared for whatever challenges lay ahead. He was intelligent and unafraid; perfect qualities for a soldier, or so the posters had read. Besides, with such fiercely determined people beside him, there was no way that he could falter.

"Next!" barked a stern-faced man seated behind a row of precariously balanced tables.

It took Tom a moment to realise that he had been talking to him and he hastened forwards.

"Right, you come to sign up, soldier?"

Tom rendered the question ridiculous, but was trapped under the probing glare of his superior and so merely mumbled:

"Yes, I guess so."

"Well of course you do."

Proceedings were interrupted by an animated argument occurring at the other hand of the long row of tables, between one of the officers and a young volunteer. It was the only thing that morning which had managed to pierce the din and everyone was silent and watching as the dispute ensued.

"I am 16, I swear it!"

"Yes, and I'm a bleedin' monkey. Now get a move on, lad, we've got plenty of others who want to sign up."

"Yes, but I want to sign up too!"

"Then bring me your real papers instead of whoever these belong to."

"These are mine!"

"Come on, don't chew the ragii, I haven't got time."

"But I am 16 and I want to join the army and help my country!" The boy shouted, his fists clenched at his side and his body rigid in defiance.

"And so you can in a few years. Now, you can leave or we can have you thrown out – what's it to be?"

After a moment's pause, during which the boy's eyes darted from the gun firmly attached to the officer's lapel, clearly weighing up the likelihood of it being used against him, he gave a huge sigh and his shoulders caved. Sheepishly, eyes firmly downcast, he made his way back through the lines to jeers and laughs from the other volunteers.

"It's good that they're so eager, but we're hardly going to send children up against the Huns are we?"

"I quite agree."

"Can I see your papers?"

"Of course,"

He handed over the leather-bound pages, inscribed upon them his date of birth, full name, current address and doctor's report.

"It looks to me like this all checks out, Thomas, but your name does seem familiar…Parker…your father wouldn't by any chance be the Major William Parker, one of the heroes of the Boer War?"

"Yes, that's my father."

"Well I never. I have to admit, I expected him to be sending his son off to the army before now, but never mind - better late than never! Welcome to the army, Mr Parker. We have six infantry divisions and one cavalry; you will be placed in Infantry Division Three for the time being, but with hero's blood in you I doubt you'll stay there for long! Report to King's Cross station at ten O'clock sharp tomorrow morning and you'll be shipped off to training camp. Pack lightly; you will have most of what you need on arrival. Good luck."

"Thank you, Sir." Tom smiled wearily, relieved that his papers passed the clearing check, even though he had no reason to be concerned; he just hadn't wanted to be subjected to the humiliation that that young boy had.

He stepped back outside in the crisp morning air, inhaling deeply. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, before patting it back down, digesting what had just happened. He had joined the army. He was now a registered member of His Majesty's Army. It felt good. Finally, he was doing something meaningful; supporting his country and his friends. He was excited about telling George. His friend had joined the army as soon as he had turned 16, though claims he had never really expected to go to war once the Boer War had finally reached a conclusion. Nevertheless, he had risen to the rank of Lieutenant, impressing with his advanced skills shown in training, and was therefore a highly respected figure in the army. Tom was sure that his friend and his father would be proud. As though walking on clouds, he set off home with a positive outlook towards the following day.

"What the hell were you thinking? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Don't be like that, George, I thought you'd be pleased for me." Tom's forehead creased under the weight of his friend's disapproval.

"Well I would have gone with you and made sure you ended up in my division, at least. That way we'd face the fritz together. But now you're part of fuck knows where-"

"The 3rd Division"

"The 3rd Division? Jesus! Right I'm going to talk to people and see what strings I can pull to get you into the cavalry…we could always mention your father – he's quite a celebrity in the army."

"No. If I'm going to get into that division then I would like it to be because of my own accord."

"This is what I mean – you have no bloody idea how things work in the army do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't think that ranking officers get appointed because of skill or tactical minds, do you? They get appointed because they've browned their tongues at the right time or nepotism. Thankfully for you, you get the latter. Life in the army isn't half as glamorous as people pretend it to be. The plays, the songs, the posters, they're all acting – just being at training camp has taught me as much and god knows what we're facing out there, but it's not going to be easy. I just…I don't mean to preach, I just want you to be ready for what's out there."

"I know I'm not George. I know it isn't going to be as simple as it sounds, but I guess I was happy in the delusion that it would be. If there was ever a place to get ready though, it'll be this training camp. I think…I know I want to do this."

"Then I'm happy for you." He smiled, clasping his friend firmly on the shoulder, "But I would be happier if you got into the cavalry."

"There's only one cavalry division, the likelihood that I'll ever be posted there is slim. Don't worry – just try and visit when you can and I'll write to you."

"You better. Here, let me help you pack."

Tom remembered the moment fondly as he stood on the crowded platform of King's Cross, surrounded by similarly confused and yet eager expressions. Some were chatting amongst themselves, others consulting with the brass hats that lined the platform edge, stroking their guns as, what appeared to be, a reflex. However, his gaze focused on a young couple standing by the gates. The prospective soldier could have been no older than he and the women he cradled in his arms could only have been about 18. A crystallised tear slid down her cheek and he delicately wiped it away, bending down to whisper soft words into her ear, his breath gently tickling her strands of blonde hair.

He was brought crashing back to reality when a shrill whistle put pay to all conversing and a gangly man with a blossoming moustache stepped onto a bench, so that he might be seen and heard by all (this action, however, was unnecessary. His sheer height had made it easy to see him and when he opened his mouth and addressed the congregation, he rivalled noise of the train as it later departed).

"Gentlemen, congratulations on taking this vital step; in doing so, you are vowing to help strengthen the security of our great nation. You have done yourselves, your loved ones and your family proud. You have set an example to those more reluctant to defend precious Britain. Though we may be a small country, we have more heart than Germany and all her allies combined. We are not alone in this war; our allies include the fierce forces of France, Russia, Ireland," (he continued to reel off Britain's allies, to cheers from the crowd) "Our allies look to us for leadership and guidance and so help me God, we will show them what we can do. We will prove that we are capable of leading these nations of victory, in the name of our King and country. At this training facility, you will be taught about both using and protecting yourself from ammunition, you will learn the art of tactical combat and you will be prepared for whatever challenges lie ahead in France, so that when you face the Fritz you will be so prepared that they will have no idea what hit them! They will be so intimidated by our ferocity that they will have no choice but to surrender. Gentlemen, you have made a wise choice today. The train will depart momentarily, fill up all possible space and have a safe journey. We wish you the very best of luck. Fear God, honour the King."

"Fear God, honour the King." The men chorused, before applauding the officer as he got down from his perch.

Tom looked back to the couple he had previously been observing. Totally isolated from the officer and his speech, they stood as before, pure and perfect, surrounded by a golden glow as he kissed her one last time and she wished him safe passage back to her arms.

Tom's contemplation was broken by a bustle of movement towards the train as the five minute bell was rung. In one swift movement, back firmly in hand, he swung himself into the polished doorway. As he shuffled down the narrow corridor, eventually manoeuvring his small luggage onto a rack in an empty compartment, he felt as though he was leaving his old self behind. With a new location, occupation and a new era, he was becoming a new man and he hoped that he would be better for it. He sat down and anxiously smoothed the creases from his trousers, removing his jacket in anticipation of the heat radiating from an excess of fellow passengers. His mind turned to the goodbye he had endured with his best friend and he had to wonder if they would ever see each other again. Though he had promised that he would visit, the truth was that George had no idea when the cavalry division would be shipped to France, and once they had, the trench construction he had heard about seemed to be so vast it was unlikely that they would find each other. Besides, surely the cavalry would be kept separate from the trenches?

He was so consumed by his thoughts, that he barely noticed the company he had in the compartment. Opposite him sat the very same man who he had been so closely observing on the platform with his girlfriend.

"Good day."

"How do you do?" He asked warmly reaching forward to grasp his hand in a firm handshake. "The name's William."

"Oh, my father's name is William. Mine's Thomas, but most people just call me Tom."

"Pleased to meet you. You don't know anyone here, do you?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Well I didn't mean no disrespect by it, just that you were sat by yourself and had the same look on your face that I did in the mirror this morning." He smiled briefly, his cheeks reddening a little.

"No, you're quite right, I'm afraid I'm totally alone."

"Well maybe we can be alone together then. The other lads have all signed up in groups, from what I can make out. We've got the Middlesex County Cricket team down a couple of compartments and some bankers down the other way. I feel like I should have signed up with all my mates too. It's a good idea to stop yourself chickening out – tell yourself everyone you know is doing it."

"I know what you mean. Don't worry – we'll be alone together and we'll get through this training thing together, just you wait and see."

He beamed appreciatively up at him, before reaching for his bag and producing some playing cards.

"Fancy a game?"

They played for the next hour and a half, cheering whenever they won a game and flinging cards playfully at each other like small children, liberated from their heavy thoughts of duty and responsibility for some memorable moments. In between games, they shared childhood stories and memories, deciding that if they were to be alone together, they best get to know one another. Tom decided to leave out the celebrated role of his father in the war, proud to be his own man for once, but recounted his youth growing up in the Southern suburbs around Oxfordshire and his tales of being at boarding school. He found out that William had been born and raised in Layton, East London and his father was an industrial worker, while his mother was a teacher at his old primary school. He also had three siblings, an older brother who was working abroad in America and two younger brothers, the youngest of which was just 6 years old. They delighted in sharing humorous tales of youth, for it felt very much as though they had left youth behind for good now. War had a distinct way of reordering one's life and priorities; once at training camp, there would be no time for childish antics.

Eventually the train jolted to a halt, the vast expanse of greenery interrupted by a large grey building, obstructed by a barbed-wire fence which reached high towards the smoky sky. They heard a loud voice echo throughout the carriage ordering them to disembark, followed by a flurry of activity in neighbouring carriages.

"Looks like this is it then…" William said, though neither of them moved.

"I suppose we'd better…"

They both remained perfectly still.

Once the loud voices, creaking and banging had passed, as passengers from further down the train swayed towards the exits with their luggage, the two men stood, collected their luggage from the overhead racks, and, without another word, quitted the train.

They stood together at the back of a long line which slowly moved towards the encampment. They were silently checked off on a list and given a key to the cabins in which they would be staying until fully prepared for war. They were instructed that their respite would be fifteen minutes. After that, they were to report to the central courtyard in their uniforms. Their uniforms were in their cabins. They were wished good luck. They were shoved into the camp and the guarded gates were shut behind them. Without speaking, they walked with the flow of soldiers until they arrived at their cabin. The cabins were tinned buildings, of the same dullish grey as the principle construction on the site, and their numbers were painted, large and black, looming out at them from the sides of the cabins. Inside were rows of beds, each with a straw mattress, pillow and a sheet. At the end of each of the beds lay a basic set of uniform. Fortunately, William and Tom had been assigned the same cabin, sharing it with eight others. They chose beds next to one another without speaking and began to undress. The only windows were narrow slits far above their heads, so they could barely see as they fumbled with the buttons and belt buckles. By the time they had finished, it was time to meet in the central courtyard, a large space at the centre of the cabins. Now they all looked the same; like soldiers.

Once again, they faced a speaker. This one, however, looked too young to be a commander. Tom's mind drifted back to the words of his friend; 'they get promoted because they've browned their tongues in the right places or nepotism'. He wondered which of these applied to the man who stood before them now.

"My name is Major Webster and I am commander of this training facility. Gentlemen, congratulations on taking this vital step towards becoming soldiers; you have done yourselves, your loved ones and your family proud. You have set an example to those more reluctant to defend precious Britain. Though we may be a small country, we have more heart than Germany and all her allies combined. We are not alone in this war and our allies look to us for leadership and guidance and we will show them what we can do. We will prove that we are capable of leading these nations of victory, in the name of our King and country. At this training facility, you will be taught about both using and protecting yourself from ammunition, you will learn the art of tactical combat and you will be prepared for whatever challenges lie ahead in France, so that when you face the Fritz you will be so prepared that they will have no idea what hit them! They will be so intimidated by our ferocity that they will have no choice but to surrender. Gentlemen, you have made a wise choice today. If you have any questions, commanders are posted in the officer's cabin, labelled Cabin Number 1. We will answer any questions with as much confidence as we can. Tonight, we will all dine together and tomorrow morning training begins. We will report back here at 6am sharp. We wish you the very best of luck. Fear God, honour the King."

William leaned towards Tom and uttered so that only he may hear:

"They couldn't even be bothered to type a different speech."


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

~ London, England, Oct. 1914 ~

The hospital really was a sight to behold as I made my way through rows of beds, the majority of which had been imported in an effort to counteract overflowing. In each of them lay an occupant, moaning and bloody, bereft of hope and youth, which should have been awarded them in excess. I couldn't believe my eyes. Of all the visions I had held for my future, this was not one of them. I recalled checking the inventory – _how could I have calculated for this? _We were supposed to be prepared for everything. I don't think anyone was supposed to be prepared for this. I stalked between the beds, distributing fresh water, cautiously checking bandages and cleaning wounds which seemed to be increasingly reluctant to heal. Occasionally I would collide with Mary and we would exchange brief smiles of encouragement, but her smiles never met her eyes and I doubt that mine did either. We both attempted to hide it, but it was impossible. _For the first time in my life, I am afraid. _The government insist that the war will be over by Christmas, but how could this be possible? Only a few months at war and we are already teeming with injured soldiers, our supplies running dangerously low and our staff seriously depleted with conscription laws. The sadist in me was doing backflips with joy that I had been given my opportunity to do something as a nurse, but this was not the breakthrough I had had in mind. Because of the lack of supplies, and there doesn't seem to be any more on the way, a lot of our jobs now entailed improvisation. The inspectors from London's main hospitals had proclaimed that once supplies had been sufficiently used, we should turn wounded men away, instead directing them to one of London's main hospitals. I suppose that it makes sense, but surely keeping them all in such confined spaces would only serve as a breeding ground for infection. Besides, some would much rather be treated in smaller hospitals and homes nearer to where they grew up – it gives them a little something to hold on to. At least the larger hospitals aren't overflowing yet though…yet.

Of course, Dr Phillips refused in one of his few redeeming moments, instead declaring that as long as he worked here he would continue to treat anyone who came desperately knocking. I assured him that I would stand by his side and for the first time since working here, I felt that he began to respect me. We would work in conjunction with each other rather than him throwing me towards the cupboards to fold sheets. He even asked me advice on some minor procedures – it was more to include me than that he actually required my assistance, but I appreciated it nonetheless. Now at least I don't have to ponder my purpose here and how long I will stay. _I will be staying indefinitely…as long as these men need me because I can help them_.

"Em! Em! Dr Almighty needs you!"

"What?"

"His Majesty, Lord of the Hospital, has requested the presence of his newfound right-hand-woman in his office."

_Oh I wonder what he wants…God I hope that Mary isn't jealous at all, I mean to be honest I'm just as astounded as she probably is in is change of behaviour. _"Ok, let me just finished stitching this….there you go, John that should be sufficient. I will be back later to check your vitals."

"Thank you, Nurse Roberts."

"You're very welcome."

"So, what does Dr Almighty want with you?"

"I have no idea. To be honest, I'm just trying to wrap my head around his mood swings."

"Yes, I had noticed that he seems to be treating you with a new-found respect – you haven't slept with him have you?"

_Jesus does she have no respect? How is it that she always manages to say exactly what's on her mind with no restraint?...Mind you, I guess that's just why she's such a good friend sometimes. You always know exactly where you are with her._

"No! Of course I haven't! I can't believe that you'd assume that – do you even know me?"

"Alright, alright, chill out. I mean, can you blame me? We go out nearly every week and I introduce you to these wonderful men and you just turn them all down…what am I supposed to think?"

_I can't laugh…I can't laugh, this is serious…she's just accused me of bedding my boss. God why does she always make me laugh?_

"How about that I don't have time for a man right now? I'm just not interested in that sort of thing at the moment."

"Ok, ok…"

"I'm serious."

"Yes, ok."

"I am."

"I'll see you later," she grinned mischievously, marching off and leaving me stranded outside Dr Phillips' office door.

I paused to take a deep breath, trying to suppress my whirlwind morning and not reflect too much on the events which had unfurled over the past few weeks. For some reason, my subconscious was telling me that this was going to be a significant moment. I knocked.

"Come in." The deep, husky voice protruded through the oak doors and I stepped inside.

In all the time I have worked at the hospital, I cannot believe that I have never once been inside this room. The desk was backed against the far wall, parallel to three large, dirt-stained windows. The bookcases were piled high with all manner of medical journals and a large mirror reflected the room back on itself. I walked slowly towards the sleep-deprived figure hunched over his desk, his glasses at the tip of his nose as he perused a piece of paper. Without being asked, I took the seat opposite him and awaited his attention in silence. When he finally looked up, I was shocked to find his eyes puffy with distinguishable black bags beneath them and his hair ruffled and unkempt. _He must be sleeping even less than myself!_

"You wanted to see me, Doctor?"

"Yes, Miss Roberts. I would offer you a seat, but I can see that you have already taken one."

I shifted uncomfortably, inwardly cursing myself for my presumptuous crassness, and felt my cheeks turning a deep shade of red.

"I called you in here to discuss your future with this hospital."

_He can't fire me! Oh please God I've worked far too hard for this chance, I can't lose it now. I need this job, not just for my livelihood but for my own personal satisfaction – this is what I live for, helping people. Please, please, please don't take this away from me. What will I tell Mary, my parents…Mother will probably say that she told me so and cart me off to some rich man to marry. God that can't happen! _I anxiously grappled with myself, struggling to collect my panicked thoughts.

"I apologise if I have done anything wrong, Doctor, but it's just been a tough few weeks here, but-"

"Well it's about to get a hell of a lot tougher, I'm afraid."

My mouth went dry and I couldn't speak.

"This is classified information and I would appreciate it if you kept it to yourself, but, contrary to popular belief, this war is far from over. In fact, new reports the government have received indicate that it is only in its infancy."

_I knew things could only get worse. Why couldn't the government just tell us straight for once! I wonder how Dr Phillips found out about all this…_

"This means that the future of this hospital is increasingly dim. As much as I hate to admit it, the Inspector was right – London's main hospitals would be more beneficial recovery environments for our patients and we have to consider what is best for the patients. There they will receive greater degrees of medical attention and fresh imports of supplies mean the standard of treatment will be higher. You therefore have a choice."

"A choice, Sir?"

"I have been asked by recent scouts of His Majesty's Army to suggest doctors and nurses who are the best at their job."

"I don't understand."

"Yes you do. You have a choice. You can either join the distinguished doctors at London's Royal Infirmary or you can join the medical corps and travel to France to be a nurse at the front."

_Shit! What the hell am I supposed to do? This is such a tremendous opportunity and either way I will be able to continue helping people who need it most, but which direction should I take. _For some reason, the only person I could think of at that moment was Mary.

"Will Mary be extended the same opportunity?"

"There is no question that Mary is an extremely talented nurse, but do you believe that she would be able to handle the pressure of working at the front? Understand that it will be the hardest challenge you will ever face. You will be placed in situations beyond your wildest reckonings, be confronted with horrors you will barely be able to speak of afterwards. Some injuries it will be impossible to cure, but you will not be able to say anything and instead will have to hold a soldier's hand while he dies. You will have supplies and equipment even less adequate than this and it will therefore test your abilities to the maximum."

_I won't be able to do this without Mary._ _It's just so much to take in. He can't expect my answer right now…Jesus, what do I do?_

"Can I think about this decision, please? It's very important that I make the right one."

"I can only give you a day. Tomorrow the army is leaving London. Unfortunately modern times do not allow for time enough to think."

"Thank you, Doctor. May I also speak with Mary about this?"

"Very well. Now back to work – we are thoroughly…busy…" He trailed off deep in thought. Realising that I would get no more information out of him that day, I decided to leave in silence, his proposal spinning through my mind.

* * *

The air was rank with the stench of blood and urine. Upon the thick, bloodied breeze, were the intense cries of men as they clung to whatever life they had left, screeching in willing efforts to remain alive. The ones who wanted to die, who chose to give up, had their life sucked from them noiselessly. She had never seen anything like it. The nurse charged between the rows of beds with renewed urgency, her aching heart pulsating in her neck, propelling her towards her next patient. There would never be a time when she would be used to such unsanitary and heart-wrenching conditions. She moved towards the next bed. Blood oozed through his recently applied headdress. He had just arrived from the front line. His face was contorted with fear. His tibia, brittle and yellowing, protruded from the mesh of red and tissue which barely resembled a leg. She knew he didn't have long. Once, a long time ago, she would have panicked. Tears would have poured in uncontrollable streams down her face and she would have buried her head, looked away and tried not to retch at the scenes before her. She may have appeared heartless, but in truth she was just used to such a situation.

"Bitte!" He cried out blindly, his hand searching blackness for something, someone he could hold on to.

She was there in a heartbeat. Her warm fingers closed around his clammy palm. She ignored all else around her. For a moment, it was just her and this soldier in a moment together. This was his moment; he had earned that much.

"Bitte." He whispered quieter than before, closing his hand tighter around her own as an appreciative gesture, though he didn't even know who she was.

She observed him tenderly as his eyelids fluttered, his breathing steadying in response to her welcoming hand.

"Bitte!" He urged suddenly, pulling her towards him.

Her breathing quickened as she leant, inches from his beaten face. He gently spread her hand and placed it firmly on his chest, which was growing heavier with each breath. He took a long rasping breath and then whispered in her ear, barely audible amongst the calamity around them.

"Danke...danke."

Having said his last words, he slipped out of consciousness forever. His grip loosened on her hand and she moved slowly so she might close his eyes. Had she had more time, she would have sat by his bedside for some time, but, cruel as it was, soldiers arrived to remove his body and she moved on to the next bed.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

~ Devon, England, Aug. 1914 ~

Dear George,

I guess I had no idea what to expect when I joined up, but life in the army isn't exactly how I'd pictured it. You were right – it is a lot less glamorous than I had imagined. I don't know I'd have managed if it hadn't been for my friend William. We met on the train over here and I sincerely hope that you get a chance to meet him. He is a most interesting fellow and seems to have an excess of positivity and optimism – an approach to life, as I am learning, which is most valuable. I do miss you though, George, and I wish that you were here so that I might share these experiences with you. I suppose it's because, well, we've done everything together, haven't we? Now I'm not sharing one of the biggest experiences of my life with you, and that feels strange.

Since I've arrived here, it's been made clear that hard work is the only way in which we can defeat the Germans. We went on another 10 mile run today, adorned in our heavy backpacks, but the torrential rain was the main problem. The more it rained, the muddier it got, and the more we slipped and got stuck, and the bigger the punishment became from the Major in charge here. If you ask me, he seems rather too big for his boots and so young to be a commander – what you said about military appointments must be true for this boy. He seemed rather put out at my modest promotion ceremony.

Oh goodness! – did you hear that I'd been promoted to Captain? I can't quite believe it myself and can't think what I've done to deserve it. They said something about my remarkable performances in which I demonstrated soldierly traits, but I think that someone must have informed them of my father. They offered me new accommodation in the officers building, with proper beds and mattresses, but I declined. You see, the men that I have grown and learnt with over the past few weeks are wonderful people and I can't imagine getting through this without them. Besides, I've heard that all they do in the officers' cabin is drink and, quite frankly, we have more fun in our humble cabin. The other day, Richard's mother sent him a gramophone with some records and some of the lads wanted to be taught how to waltz - we had a wonderful time!

Anyway, I was surprised to find that over these few weeks my stamina has increased and thus I could cope quite well with the run. I didn't come in any kind of position though, because I had promised William that I would run at his side. Poor soul, he does tend to struggle with some of the exercises and seems rather short of breath, though he denies that he's asthmatic. He fell towards the end and has damaged his ankle, so I had to help him to the finishing post, but we did get there which is more than we can say for some of the lads with us.

You asked in your previous letter whether I had managed to successfully fire a gun yet and the answer is: yes, I have. After basic marching and formation, one of the first things we were taught was loading and reloading a gun to fire. Some of the more experienced men are brilliant shots, getting the target every time. For me, however, it took a little longer. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I'm poor at shooting and I can reload my gun swiftly enough, but I only just clip the target from long range. It's not the same as using a rapier like my father taught me. It doesn't feel natural. Still, I am sure that I will be able to pick it up over the coming weeks in preparation for France. It's compulsory, especially now that I have to set an example.

It has been some time since your last letter and I find myself wondering how things are going in the cavalry division? Last I heard you were in the countryside attempting to find horses to mount and further volunteers to be escorted to training camps such as this. I understand that you must be very busy, but if you ever have some time to come and visit an old friend, I know that I would be delighted to see you. We have so much more to talk about that I just don't have time to include in my letters. Besides, there is talk of us being sent to France soon, so I'm not sure when you'll get another opportunity.

I hope that you are quite well and that your excursions have been successful. I look forward to hearing from you and eagerly await your next letter.

Your dearest friend,

Thomas Parker

* * *

Dear Tom,

Congratulations are in order, I believe! It is relatively unheard of for such an early promotion – you must have excelled beyond expectations in training. Some of us actually have to work our way through the ranks and even then don't get such a high status. Have you told your father yet? I know you wish to be separate from him, but he is still your father and he would be so proud to hear the news, I am sure.

One piece of advice that I would give you, my friend, is to not completely isolate yourself from the other officers. I know that a lot of the time they can be a drunken bore – and by the sound of things, that Major is a right piece of work – but they are your allies, after all, and they are the people that you shall be working most closely with when you get to France. You sound like you have already earned a great deal of respect from your men, but you won't be able to properly take care of them unless you befriend your equals and superiors. However, I know you and therefore I can say with the utmost sincerity that I can think of no one better to captain the 3rd Division Infantry than you. Well done, my friend, I wish I could have been there to share that moment with you.

You are quite right – we were scouting the countryside when you wrote your previous letter, which is why I am a little late in replying. For this, I apologise. We have found some very beautiful horses, which we believe will fare very well during the war. Mine is a lovely dapple grey, whose owner named her Snowdrop. I am not sure, myself, whether she suits such a name. I tried to come up with several others, but she only responds to this one. The other officers have made a point of teasing me regularly about it, of course. You see we each have our own share of troublesome superiors. We call our Major Shitbrick, because he is full of shit and has a humour as dry as a brick. Not very imaginative, but what can I say? – it's stuck now! Our Captain's enthusiasm also borders on psychotic. He scares most comrades, a situation not helped by the fact that he is afraid of horses. Why in God's name would you appoint a Captain to lead a division of cavalry if he's scared of horses? He'll ride it, but he's totally out of control. The other day, he nearly charged straight into the lake.

So our officers, too, are a continued source of ridicule and amusement amongst the men. However we have been very lucky in the acquisition of our recent accommodation. A family in Somerset have nobly surrendered their home to us for our personal training. The mansion is large enough to house us in our hundreds, with fifteen sleeping in each room. But it is the grounds which are of most use to us – nearly 15 acres! This includes woodlands, open lawns and the lake, perfect conditions to practice full cavalry charges. We are very fortunate.

However, I will be able to speak further to you when we visit your division before you are to be transported to France. I have managed to persuade my superiors that it would be beneficial to boost the men's spirits by visiting them and ensuring that we are 100% behind their endeavours; to show them that the cavalry will support them no matter what. This will allow me time to see you and dissuade you from this 'William' chap (I'll remind him who your best friend really is) though I wish that I could travel with you to France.

So, till then, I hope that you remain well and healthy, and I very much look forward to seeing you again.

Your dearest friend,

George Richards


End file.
